


An Art in Blood

by Kartaylir



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, F/F, Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampires - Human character gets off on watching vampire drink their blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir
Summary: Some have suggested that victims may willingly submit themselves to the will of a vampire, but no real evidence of this exists....~Vampires of Vvardenfell, Volume II
Relationships: Original Breton Character/Original Dunmer Vampire Character
Kudos: 5
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	An Art in Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



_Year 24 of the 4th Era_

It was, all matters considered, a good thing I could not simply sneak into the Bruma Sanctuary unnoticed. For if I might have, then others could as well, and while we had gained no great new enemies as of late there was ever the need for caution.

Still I had hoped to avoid Jebri until I’d had time to change my clothes, to drink a few drops of blood lest I found myself feeling thirsty around the Brothers and Sisters of the Dark Brotherhood.

Instead she was waiting for me only three steps inside. “Assassin,” she said, her smile the wide and open one that tended to disconcert the newest recruits. “It’s good to see you home. The Mistress is busy still, I promised her I’d greet you.”

And then she spoke more softly, as she laid a hand against my gaunt cheek. “And you look as if you’ve not eaten in days.”

“Only two,” I said, my voice even quieter than hers. This hall echoed, another caution against any who might try to sneak within. And I’d told her before how little I wished to speak of this matter, let alone to have it on display before the others.

“My room, then.” She turned on her heel and motioned for me to follow, her pace fast enough to indicate she once again found my reticence irritating.

Much the same sentiment I held toward her nonchalance. I’d always fit into the sanctuary like a weapon for an almost-familiar style. Just similar enough to trip regularly over the differences during one’s exercises.

It was my fault, of course. This was Cyrodiil, and those here had no understanding of what it meant to be watched over by one’s ancestors, to have that line cut off by a single thread of blood.

Nor did they truly appreciate what they might serve, though I would not say such things. Septims and the distance of dead gods were the way of things to them. The Aedra might care for the fate of the world itself, but they would not waken from their deathly slumber for naught else. It was easy for them to mouth words of Sithis and the Night Mother and presume they’d never be held to them save by the deeds of Men and Mer.

What did they know of the harsh glory of Boethiah, the bone-bound vigils of Azura, or the poisoned rumors of Black-Hands Mephala? Their concerns were of business, not sacrifice. They saw themselves as contractors, not offerings.

I’d always been an offering, and would not admit that status changed by what had been inflicted upon me.

It was a well-laid track I mulled over as I followed Jabri to the room that was as much hers as mine, for how often I was away from the Sanctuary. She’d traded out the drapery again, with blue silk upon the walls rather than the red velvet that had hidden the stone before.

I moved to sit down on a wooden chair and she indicated the bed instead. I could almost feel the sheets rotting beneath me from the dampness. No need to worry about mere blood on them, then.

I started at the touch of Jebri’s hand against my cheek again, her fingers pressed to my sharp teeth. She brushed her hair back with her other hand to expose the long line of her neck, still reddened by too long exposure to the sun.

I had always made a point of being precise with arrow, blade and tooth alike, but such was not the same thing as being gentle. 

She shuddered as I broke her skin, let her touch slide down to wrap fingers in the dark strands of my hair. And oh, how sweet she tasted. I’d wondered at times if this was what moonsugar was to the Khajiit, for that at least they spoke of. 

Even with that first taste I could feel my cheeks fill out into the more usual sharpness of the Dunmer, the shadows beneath my eyes begin to fade. 

That would have been enough cause to pull back, if she’d not taken my hand in hers and held me close. I could see little while so close, though I could smell the scent of nightshade in her hair, for which I’d need chastise her later.

And I did not need to see to know how wet she was between her legs. That, at least, was sacred. Sex and death balanced together on a dagger’s edge.

Yet another reminder of what I should have been.

She released my hand and turned her own touch to my hair, to undoing the braids that held it back, to watching me shiver when she brushed against my cheek. 

I lifted my head just long enough to kiss the tips of her fingers, to lick off the few drops of blood that had transferred from my lips. Moved my hand further between her legs as my fangs broke skin again, as that once again brought her to shuddering. My thumb had barely found her clit before she was on the edge of it.

“Not yet,” she murmured, and I whispered a spell to her skin in turn. 

Her body froze, her hand still against my cheek until I moved, her gaze turned to mine. I began with biting gently up the length of her neck, watching the flutter of her eyes, the way her lips strained for a smile. The droplets of blood that she ever described as rubies against her skin. 

I’d never seen that in them myself. Just the light of fire reflected in my eyes, a flicker of something that could truly harm me given the curse.

The spell faded just as I raised my teeth. She thrust herself against my fingers, hips moving with all the energy that had been trapped in that brief time. I caught her lips with mine, tasted the warmth of her without guilt, muffled her groans as her body shuddered, for a moment fell still.

“You enjoyed that,” Jebri said, once our lips parted. 

I did not answer, sated as I was from her blood. Or perhaps it was simply too hard an admittance, to find any delight in what I was, when even this sometimes seemed chosen to torment myself with what I was.

Then she leaned her head against my shoulder and I shivered at the touch of her hair on my skin, even that overwhelming as my body was again a body, something warm and almost mortal. I cannot say I kept my dignity at that touch.

Still I did not answer her question.

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning,” she said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek before she left. 

Even the sheets felt like too much to touch me, or perhaps it was merely that I feared my dreams.

But then, there was much to fear in them.


End file.
